first off, it’s a very dangerous thing to sit around and talk about socialism immediately prior to heading for the bar. although in general it’s also a dangerous thing to sit around and talk about socialism while drinking vodka, it’s just that if you head out to the bar immediately after; the effect can be devastating.

the american night
looks different
after a few stiff drinks

all the detritus
litter
and
roving bands drunk on:
dreams,
moments,
or simple alcohol -
reach for new definitions
of futile ephemera

i need a whole new vocabulary, a lexicon of the times, specially brewed to capture the essence - of anger and frustration, absurdist laughter and the tears of the damned; i need that new stock of words to capture the night properly, to bring you there and help you feel the sky, the streets, the people; so that you can understand what it means to feel the last vestiges of a fragile and fleeting joy, built on tired old words and yet another rehashing of the general frustration, crumble in the face of all these faces -

cluttered around tables
hovering over pitchers of hooch
the outline of a jaw
made more visible
as the elbow
raises a bottle

my eyes rove across
roving eyes
and on this tired face
i wear a smile,
mostly sad,
and
born of resignation

i want someone to explain (i could probably do it myself, but i’d honestly rather listen to someone else’s theory, just so that i can poke holes and hold out hope) how it all came down to this, i want someone to walk me through the psychological underpinnings of these moments when the spectacle of a crowd is so terribly ugly

i look out at the faces and i think of Kafka’s Burrow,
it’s the last form of hope i have
(and often that just makes it worse),
i hope you’re hiding -
i hope that underneath these blank expressions; these roving eyes; this paper doll collection of clothing that represents the uniforms of contemporary culture; this cacophony of conversations about bands and tv, sports teams and the latest scoop on who’s shagging who; these tattoos you got, but apparently have no story for; these come hither glances of sexual need; these casually rehearsed maneuvers that highlight your best physical features; these earnestly arrogant poses as you blow smoke towards the ceiling, one arm across the other, slumped in your chair
i hope you’re all hiding something wonderful -
i just wish i could see it
i just wish i believed it was there

i sat there in my chair and watched, i bounced over to some girl and tried to find out if she was at all interesting, i drank beer and wondered where the spirit was hiding;
my friend decided that the world needed to be torn down -

laughing at the sky
out on the street, after cutting a swath of demented devastation
through that crowd,
flinging new slogans of nihilism at the night

and to be fair, the assault had begun early; forced, at work, to watch a crowd who seemed composed of mostly meat-heads (perhaps they’re actually nice guys, but it’s awful hard not to be judgemental when they-) laugh with beautiful women, and play beer-pong while watching tv . . . outside.

television (everyday i grow more thankful i don’t own one) is capable of sustaining naturally unsustainable friendships and relationships, allowing people to ’spend time’ together without needing to talk

beer-pong (or any other drinking game) is good mostly for cushioning that rough interlude where intoxication has yet to set in, again negating the need for conversation until one is drunk enough to have fun

after work we drank vodka; talked about how television (principally the commercials) is destroying culture, wryly admitted that even we have been branded by commodity culture, and of course the specter of that aging truism (with its desperate hope) arose

if -
(oh god if)
if someone were to organize even half of the workers in this country, and took the factories back from the hands of those who don’t even know how to make them run . . . . . . . . .

fuck it, let’s go to the bar

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 1st, 2006 at 2:04 pm and is filed under indiscriminate, philosophy. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.